


Resurrection

by psytronix



Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Genderbending, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:54:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27023110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psytronix/pseuds/psytronix
Summary: Having awoken, taken back the reins of his body - Revan finds a new method of control of the galaxy, using it to right his wrongs.
Kudos: 5





	1. Rebirth

" _The force fights with me!"_

Alarms. Crashing, _falling_. That tell-tale pull in the gut, a sign that a ship was being pulled into orbit, that onboard gravity was failing. A rumble, another compartment nearby whistling as the air, and it's occupants, were sucked out - into the cold, chaotic void of space. Diamar Thervan had woken up to worse places, though, the Endar Spire during a crisis was in his top ten.

A scoundrel at heart, with a head of messy hair and some starry, charming eyes, he was often quick to let his blaster do the talking, if his mouth had failed him. Heeding the environmental warnings around him, he leapt out of his bunk and scanned the room for any intruders. Whipping a blaster out from beside his bed, he aimed it at the door as it _hissed_ open, revealing a disheveled Republic officer. They both breathed a sigh of relief, Diamar grinning.

"We've been ambushed by a Sith battle fleet! The Endar Spire is under attack! Hurry up – we don't have much time!" she warned, blade at the ready.

"Always the Sith, eh? Why is it that we're _never_ boarded by a little Twi'lek party cruiser?" Diamar joked, strapping himself into some basic gear before they stormed out of the room, ignoring the failing astromech droids that were doing emergency maintenance.

"Got a name, beautiful? I don't think I've ever seen you 'round these parts," he drawled, keeping his voice low as to not alert any nearby Sith. His comrade, as he observed, was tall, lithe, and had her blonde hair cut short - fitting for combat. Her face belied a certain battlefield experience, expression neutral, but not grim.

"That's because I usually steer clear of trash, soldier. I'm K'Satra Ulgo, an officer with the Republic Fleet - your _bunkmate,_ actually," she explained, with a smile of her own - quickly sobering as she heard approaching footsteps.

Diamar was the first to attack, firing one, then two shots - taking out the Sith scout that dared round one of the ship's dim corners. He quickly scavenged a few medpacs from the dying imperials, and tossed one to K'Satra. With but a nod, she continued to lead them - pressing in those flickering, exploding halls.

 _Ulgo_ , he thought - _Alderaan, nobility?_

"We'll need to see if Bastila's on the bridge. From there, we can make our way to the escape pods," she advised, falling into a light jog.

"Bastila," Diamar uttered, thinking on the name. It dragged back to a memory - one he couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Remind me again, o noble from the house of Ulgo - erm… _Who_ is this Bastila?" he asked her, holding back a titter as she almost _tripped_ at the question.

"Did you hit your head when you woke up? Bastila Shan is the commanding officer on the Endar Spire - a Jedi lent by the Council for our mission in this arm of the galaxy!" she balked, whisper-shouting as they crouched near a corner - hearing nearing footfalls.

A Sith trooper neared the corner, and was killed instantly by two shots - one from Diamar, the other from K'Satra. As the whistle and _crack_ of the light hitting his armour sounded off those halls, more Sith became alert to their presence. Cursing himself, Diamar took point, shifting in front of his comrade, unsheathing a vibroblade in one hand. He gave one quick look back to K'Satra as she whispered at him again, stopping as she noticed a fire in his eyes.

"Man down - swordsmen, charge!"

In mere seconds, three more Sith charged down the hall, round the corner. Crouching a bit so that K'Satra could aim over his shoulder, Diamar aimed his pistol from the hip, guessing where the next Sith's torso would be. Closing his eyes - he fired a shot as the sound reached his ears - nearing steps stopping. Rushing forward in a clash of blades, sparks flew around him as K'Satra gave him some cover fire.

Two more threatened to surround him, and one nicked him with their own blade, but the soldier by his side was quick to put an end to them - taking her time for two consecutive headshots. Their bodies fell quick as Diamar weaved out of their swings - _barely_ avoiding a stab to his gut. He and K'Satra sighed in relief, recoiling as a grenade was lobbed their way.

"This'll drive you out, you Republic rats!"

Time slowed for a bit as Diamar leapt back, the sounds and chaos playing around him _ceasing -_ watching in awe as K'Satra's body took over her actions - instinct prevailing over thought. With a grunt of strength, thankful for the implant she'd been outfitted with prior to this assignment, she lifted the corpse of one of the Sith in front of them; an imperfect shield.

 _Boom_ , went the grenade - flinging flak and shrapnel everywhere. K'Satra let out a yelp as she felt some score past her shins - and Diamar exclaimed as she collided with him, the force of the grenade knocking them both to the ground. Keeping their breaths short, shallow - trying to work past the ringing in their ears, they stopped.

The footsteps quieted, walking away from their position.

"They're gone," Diamar surmised, a mixture of instinct and _just knowing_ where the other living beings were on the ship, "that was a good idea."

"Correction," she panted, sliding the Sith's body off her, "that was a _fast_ idea. Those Sith grenadiers are ruthless - I'm thinking we should-"

"Charge next time, ask questions later, understood. Are you hurt?" he asked, noticing a _warmth_ trickle from her legs to his - her form pressed against his. Before she could come up with a response, he slid from under her, and whipped out his medpac, damning the flickering of the lights above them.

"I'm fine, _unf_ \- we _need_ to get the bridge before the Sith do though-" she grunted, sucking in a sharp breath.

"The Jedi can handle themselves for a little while - we need you walking properly now, not hobbling like a one-legged _gizka_ ," he chuckled, quickly applying an antibiotic, cleaning the wound, then dressing it, sloppily.

"Alright, alright - thanks, soldier. You're no medic, but I should be able to keep up pace now," she laughed back, steeling herself once more as he stood up, hand extended to her. Raising her up with ease, they continued to the bridge - finding nothing but a _battle_ , more of their own being cut down by Sith forces.

"Charging!" he yelled, firing a shot at a Sith currently engaged in battle, ducking his head to the right as he felt that almost _instant_ displacement of air behind him - light _cutting_ through wind.

"Friendly fire, Ulgo - friendly fire!" the shot whipped past his head, slamming again into the battling Sith - who gurgled and grunted once she was ran through with Diamar's blade.

"S-sorry! Watch your right!" she yelled back, filled with confidence as a wounded soldier joined them, clutching her side. Yelran, it looked like.

Diamar felt a bit of _cheek_ come off as another sword came into contact - barely missing his head. The vibration of that cortosis-weaved blade rent through flesh with absolute impunity, causing him to stagger. Quickly regaining his fire, he backed up, firing two shots to disorient the attacking trooper, and growled as they bounced off effortlessly - a shield's hum glowing around her.

"Time to die, worm!" she roared, lunging at him again, clashing her sword against his. He grunted, and brought a leg up, kicking her square in the stomach, continuing his assault. What felt like minutes passed as they continued to clash, fighting through the hordes of their enemies and allies gathered on the bridge.

"Don't suppose anyone here's seen a Bastila!?" he roared, pushed against a console, almost able to _see_ the face beneath the attacking Sith's mask. He fired a few more shots at her with his free hand, and sighed with relief as her shields started to give out, her hum fading. She became more violent with that revelation, ignoring the burn in her armour, and swung wildly - aiming to take a limb off before finishing him.

"Talk to us _after_ you've cleared the bloody Sith from our ranks, scoundrel!" one of the Republic soldiers barked. Diamar had a brief moment of trying to recognise the woman, his nose scrunching as he fired a shot at a Sith behind her. Dodging his own enemies' strikes, he rounded her in quick fashion, and beheaded her with a short, sharp swing.

K'Satra followed quickly with a volley of shots to the remaining Sith - two, now one, then _none_. Leaping back from the head of the ship - from the volatile and most-likely-to-be-shot areas, Diamar reconciled with the surviving soldiers.

"Ladies, gents, what a terrible time to meet, but a good time as any - now, how about that Bastila?" he asked, eyeing a tag that said _Borik,_ and the scarred body that it was attached to - the woman who responded to him before. She shook her head and sighed, panting, injecting herself with an adrenaline stim.

"Of _all_ the help you find, Ulgo-" she breathed, her fellow soldiers standing shakily by her sides, healing themselves. _Yelran_ and _Benno_ read their name-tags, Benno having lost their helmet, by the looks. All of them, battle-hardened and battle weary, faces marred by smoke and blood.

"I found a joker, I know. Trust me, I've been berating myself," K'Satra noted, dryly.

"Come now, I can't be _that_ bad!"

"Have you heard any word from-"

"None from Bastila - though we received a transmission from Carta to head to the escape pods," Benno added, biting his bottom lip as he applied a disinfectant to his wound on his side.

"She's holding off and got a few spots clear - says that Bastila's already jettisoned off to Taris below," Yelran said, voice quivering from the _fight_ flowing through her.

"Carta's still with us? Good - we've got no time to waste, so let's move out!" she ordered their ragtag squad, ushering Diamar to lead again.

"I shall take point for us all, thank me later - by the by, who's this Carta fellow?" he asked, holstering his pistol to focus on a more defended dueling stance - shield primed.

"How _green_ is this guy, K'Satra? Does he not know who Carta is, or is he having a laugh?" Borik guffawed.

"Carta Onasi is one of the best pilots of the Republic, and has more experience in battle than _all_ of us put together. She's not a commanding officer, but if she gives an order, it's in your best interest to follow it, Thervan," K'Satra expounded, halting as Diamar held a hand up, halting their progress.

They were close - leading to a relatively _annihilated_ doorway, and only about two rooms past it, they'd be at the escape pods.

"8 Sith. One commander - appears to be briefing the rest. Two with grenades. I'll charge in again - get into positions around the doorway and _wait_ for my signal before doing _anything_ ," he ordered them, a distinct twinkle in his eye.

K'Satra failed to hold him back as he threw away his sword, putting his blaster in it's holster, unclasped. Yelran whispered back a quiet " _what damn signal"_ as he strode in, feigning an injury on the pistol's side - holding back a laugh.

"O, but my brain _is burdened_ with the _weight_ of _knowledge_ ," he cried, stumbling into the room, looking as every bit pathetic and weak as he could muster - attempting to draw at least one _modicum_ of sympathy from the invading force.

"Enemy spotted - fir-" one Sith called out, before their gun was forced down by their commander - who appeared to be clad in red. Diamar kept his fear on the inside - not considering how _bloodthirsty_ this Sith clique appeared to be.

"Halt, soldier! This one isn't dressed like the rest of the Republic's force here - he may be worth capturing… Tell me, what is your name?" the commander approached him, getting a read of the nametag on his lapel.

"Diamar Thervan, my good sir, I'm but a _lowly_ informant of this ship's ranks - please," he asked, putting his hands on the Sith's shoulders, "I-I can give you a slip of information or two about the Republic's encroachment here - j-just, spare me, please!"

Benno and Borik gasped at the words, but K'Satra remained focused, sensing a deception in his tone - in the lack of a weapon. A _surprise attack_. Across the doorway, she nodded to Yelran, who motioned to Benno and Borik to prime their blasters for a rapid shot.

"An informant, eh? Well, how about you tell us a bit about what the Republic is planning and we'll _decide from there…"_ he threw Diamar's hands off him, backing up a tiny bit as he separated them. Diamar ignored the blasters currently pointed at him, and stuttered still, using that _real_ fear for this farce.

"W-well, y-you'll have to come closer - this is my first time betraying my own, you see, and, I'm nervous, and-" he motioned for the Sith to lean in to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder again.

"Fire!" he yelled, as loud as he could, firing crazily up into the Sith's chin, into his head. With his hand on the Sith's falling shoulder, he propped the body up in front of him, and fell with it - already noticing the supporting fire taking out the rest of the confused squad. Ripping a grenade off the commander's belt, he threw it at the feet of the squad, and blocked his ears, cowering behind the body like K'Satra had done.

In just a few seconds, the squad had been wiped out, and the remainder of the Republic's own followed into the room, _flabbergasted_. Save K'Satra, at any rate.

"That was dirty, green," Borik noted, clapping him on the back as he rose. He smiled and bowed, giving K'Satra a wink.

"The kind of dirty we need to win this war," Benno nodded to him.

"And a great way to get yourself killed. What would you have done if they didn't fall for your bluff, Diamar?" K'Satra asked him, her voice cold.

"Died, probably. But a mission is a mission, it's a means to an end, and so on, and I'd rather _my_ hide be tanned than any of _yours_. Especially yours, K'Satra," he chuckled, continuing to lead them after picking his blade up.

Explosions continued to rock the Endar Spire, and K'Satra kept a closer eye on Diamar, curious and suspicious. Something was _off_ about him - how naturally he flowed through the ship, despite his recent transfer. Perhaps he was just a quick learner, or perhaps it was instinct - like he'd served on a Hammerhead-class ship before. But his past intrigued her - shrouded in mystery, much like a scoundrel's would be, but too perfect in the spots he would elaborate on.

There was no one to confirm his story - no one who knew who he was. He had no family, no friends, and simply decided to enlist at the same time Bastila joined on the command of the Endar Spire. He _signed_ on, on the most dangerous part of the Republic's fleet, and for what? Why?

The questions consumed her until he smiled back to her. Warmth in it, a courageous fire and a _smirk_ hiding beneath it, as if he was trying to assure her things would be fine. She could _feel it_ now, and felt it linger as they neared the escape pod's bay - Carta Onasi at the ready.

"You've made it just in time - two pods left, so we're gonna have to squeeze in!" she guided them, clearly in her element.

"Good to see you, Onasi - we the last ones left?" K'Satra asked, a grim expression coming from the seasoned warrior.

"Sadly - from the sounds, it's like the whole portside's been wrecked - come on," she motioned Diamar and K'Satra into a single pod, before guiding Yelran, Borik and Benno into the other, sealing them shut and sending them off. Sliding down into the already-cramped space, she sealed the pod and hit the eject button, eyes closing as she embraced the force of the ejection.

Bodies pressed against him, thoughts awash with the battle that had just transpired, Diamar closed his eyes too, and attempted to control his breathing - finding it easier and easier with each breath. Carta had her hair cut the same as K'Satra's, by the looks, and that expression of experience was not lost on him. Even in that brief exchange he could tell how many she had defended herself against, and killed, trying to evacuate her fellow soldiers.

And judging by the fall of her expression - he could tell the guilt that now rested upon her shoulders. All the lives lost aboard the Endar Spire.

"For the Republic," he uttered, staring at K'Satra, then Carta.

And, feeling her suspicion dissipate, K'Satra smiled to him. Carta didn't, but nodded.

"For the Republic."


	2. PROLOGUE: Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we find the Force, piercing two minds.

" _Menakh… Mor ri rim nah mor reh…"_

Nightmares. Each and every day they spelled something new, something horrible that had plagued that Jedi Council in ages past. Ulic Qel Droma, Exar Kun, _Revan_ \- students that had betrayed their masters, and their teachings, causing echoes that still warped and morphed the galaxy today.

A historian's job was not easy, Atris found. The longer she stared at ancient tomes and holo-records, the more she came to find the failures of Jedi. The wars, the students, and dare she utter it, the _teachers_. She still remembered, 10 years after, the defiance, the arrogance, and the _confidence_ of the Exile as she stood trial. As she presented herself - a singular repentant soul in a sea of converted _defilers_ \- Atris had doubted herself. The Exile brought to her a light which she had never seen, a new point of view.

The master, after that brief moment of doubt, became enraged. She knew the others could see it - a lifetime's worth of training reduced to _nothing_ in the span of seconds, all because of a _look_. A stance that made her regret chronicling the history of their Order whilst billions were slaughtered by the Mandalorians. A stance that forsook everything their dogma stood for.

Though, she thought to herself, if she had gone with them, taken up arms, then she would be a part of the nightmare she found herself under. A component in the cyclical annihilation the galaxy seemed to find itself under, century after century. It was always the _Sith_ and the _Jedi_ \- two sides to the Force, battling over it's supremacy.

She found them in her nightmares - amidst a sea of subconscious imagery and make-belief situations - fighting again. Faceless hordes spilling blood in the name of an angry, vengeful god, who demanded sacrifice. Crackling bolts of lightning flashing past her face, a gentle, repelling push that soon levelled a cliffside, a dark cloud of fury invigorating one side, and a pure rain healing the wounds of the other…

Her view changed as she tried to focus on a wounded warrior's features - finding nothing but the fabric of her mind obscuring them. Atris then found herself whisked away from that warring planet, to find others in the galaxy reduced to atoms. Where once the proud enclave on Dantooine stood, now there rested only fragments, the tectonic plates of that gentle planet torn asunder.

Three _things_ made themselves known in the galaxy - a sonorous wail, flurrying about in a maelstrom of pure energy, a void, cold and parasitic, and another, red, _dominating_ and encroaching. The void and the maelstrom seemed to _scream_ as the moving presence absorbed them into its mass, expanding its reach exponentially. It _pained_ her to see this, even in her sleep, and she couldn't tell why.

The screaming didn't stop. And soon other voices came to be heard - adding to the wail of the maelstrom, rendered lifeless and hollow by the encroaching presence. Atris felt herself moving - soaring to the centre of that red, pulsing mass, finding _something_ there, a figure. She couldn't tell the distance between them, but felt it's cold grip around her heart - as if _strangling_ her connection to the Force.

It stood, unmoving, _hating_ , as the tendrils of its mass secured the galaxy at large, ceasing all war. Then, without provocation, without noise or movement, it turned to her. It looked at her as if it knew her.

Then, she woke up, finding her hands clenched around her lightsaber, it's blue glow illuminating her chambers. Atris calmed herself. Took a moment to reflect on the teachings, and dismissed the nightmare like any other. Word had spread through the chambers about Revan's defeat, and it was all but confirmed by the Council what had happened to him; a loss of memory caused by an attack by Darth Malak had rendered him vulnerable; open to a rewrite of personal history, so that the Council may have delved into the secrets of his mind.

The Jedi did _not_ kill, but Atris felt uncomfortable with the act of brainwashing - she would've spoken out, as well, had Revan not defied them. Had he not gone against the teachings of his masters. Yet before he was to be paraded to a new generation of padawans, there was a delay. Darth Malak had no doubt caught sight of the fledgling, Bastila, seeking to use her Battle Meditation to augment the Sith fleet - and had ordered a boarding of the Endar Spire.

The holo-vids that had managed to leak from the planetside of Taris provided a sliver of hope that the escape pods had made it out, but beyond that, the future was grim for the Order. Once more, Atris reaffirmed her faith in the Force, assuring herself that all would be right - and wandered the halls of the Enclave.

She found her way to the interplanetary news streams coming in from the farthest reaches of the Republic, and felt herself almost _faint_ at the sight before her. The vid was grainy, it's recording barely making it through the data-scrambling of the Sith blockade, but she knew _him._ Revan. Gallivanting about. Showing his face, to a recorder, in broad daylight.

 _With Bastila_ alongside him.

(Elsewhere…)

And, as Atris witnessed the birth of a new nightmare - a logistical and tactical nightmare, so too did another shuffle from their slumber. Another cast away by society, thrown into the heart of battle to be used, then locked away - _cut off_.

Exile.

It was Meetra's title, and now, a life she lived. Severed brutally from the Force, deaf to the life around her, nearly void of emotion, the Exile persisted in a masquerade of her former existence. Staying far away from the galaxy at large, she cut herself from contact with any and all sentient life, passing the time with droids, tinkering as her body atrophied.

It had been nearly 5 years since the end of the Mandalorian Wars, 5 years since judgement had been passed on her. 5 years since the severance to those around her.

At times, she missed it, the universe as she knew it then. The Exile missed the unification she felt against a common threat, the _purpose_ of which she and all those under Revan's command were empowered by. She missed the thrill of the defiance against the Council, finding herself revelling in slaughter as much as the liberation of a planet.

At other times, the Exile reflected on why she did what she did, whether or not the command to activate the Mass Shadow Generator was worth it. She continued to question, time and time again, _why Revan turmed._ Why he didn't return to the Council as she did.

She hated him. Despised what he became - what he turned her friends and comrades into, but knew she was _so close_ to the pull of the Dark Side. Had she not witnessed her own troops die by her hands, she would never have stopped. She would've descended like the others did, to the _Sith_.

The Exile was brought to reality by the screams of the Mandalorians. Made to realise that _they_ suffered as her allies did, and echoed a wound through the Force that would have, _should have_ killed her. She was brought to reality as the horrors of war manifested through the cracks of Malachor V. As friends and foe alike were torn apart by gravity, crushed to death in the hulls of their own ships.

She didn't know how she made it out alive, but she knew she could not continue in a world where she was allowed to walk free. To hide from the Jedi and the Sith. So, she accepted her judgement. As an excuse, and as recompense for the fallen. And so, she would stay.

The Exile would stay, for a time, until the winds called her name - until a horrid nightmare would curse her sleep. She would stay with her droids, in a shack on a nowhere-planet, until she was summoned.


End file.
